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Conversations continue, and Malachi wins yet another hand. I sit quietly and drum my fingers on the table.
“Another game?” Malachi asks, back to shuffling the deck.
I flash a glance at the time and notice it’s after one. “Not for me, I’m afraid, old boy,” I say and nod curtly at Kevin, silently requesting a Scotch. Requesting a Scotch is code for forfeiting any subsequent games.
Josh’s eyes are drawn to his chips, or lack of. “Make it two,” he calls.
I glance at Malachi. Glowering at me, he flips a red chip around in his left hand. “Hurry up and leave the table so that the men can play.”
“Men?” I place my hand over my brow and, making a visor, glance around the room. “Let me know when you see any.”
I dodge to the left as a flash of blue comes hurtling my way. I’m not sure who threw the chip, but notice Josh is quick to reach down and claim the five-thousand-pound chip as his own.
“That’s mine,” Gage scoffs.
“Finders, keepers.”
Kevin places my glass of Scotch in front of me. I take it and leave the room. Josh and Gage’s heated words ricochet off the walls as I make my way through the corridors.
I pass the kitchen, the lounge, and stop briefly when I reach the ballroom. Why anyone would want a ballroom in this day and age is beyond me. Malachi, the indulgent ass, surrounds himself with the very best—countesses, earls, and viscounts. I see my big brother one day marrying a princess of some description, a duchess, a marchioness, or an heiress. A bunch of stuck-up socialites in my opinion.
I pass the ballroom and head for the study. On entering, I take up my usual position beside the marble fireplace. Handcrafted, the fireplace holds engraved images of scripts and angels’ faces. It’s a little peculiar if one were to ask me, but seeing as though nobody has, I keep my thoughts to myself.
Gertrude, Malachi’s larger-than-life bulldog, is splayed out on a black leather sofa, her mouth partially open. I admit that I’m a fan of our four-legged friends, but Gertrude, God love her, is a ghastly, ill-tempered creature, with teeth that are far too big for her mouth and a rather peculiar lopsided face. But despite her disagreeable personality and hideous appearance, Malachi adores her. I make my way over to the dog, patting her head once before sitting in the empty space at her side. Opening her left eye, she peers up at me and lets out a guttural growl.
“Love you too, old girl,” I say. Standing, I retake my place beside the fireplace. It isn’t long before Josh enters the room.
“Blast, there goes another ten thousand big ones down the toilet,” he scoffs, sidling up to me.
I shrug. “You shouldn’t gamble with what you can’t afford.” Or, more specifically, he shouldn’t spend money he’s ‘borrowed’ from me.
Josh loops his thumbs in his trouser braces, tugging at the elastic. “I just need to win a big hand, and then I can pay you back everything I’ve borrowed.”
Gambling is the Devil’s pleasure. And once you’ve been taken captive in its hold it’s hard to break free. Josh has a major gambling addiction, and instead of letting him go to a bookie’s or casino, we allow him to join us for our poker nights. I sub him ten thousand, which unbeknown to Josh is returned to me from the winnings at the end of the evening. I wouldn’t call what my brothers and I do encouraging Josh to gamble—we’re merely managing it within a controlled environment.
“So,” Josh pipes up, a little too eagerly. “How are the chances looking of us acquiring the housebuilding company?”
“Us?” I let the single syllable roll off my tongue. “The word ‘us’ suggests it will be evenly shared. I have offered you fifty percent of the profits made from the estate agency, but the housebuilding company is mine.”
Disappointment shines brightly in his eyes, and I want so much to hand him half of the company. But sharing is just not in my nature, especially something that has been passed down in the family from my grandfather. No, the housebuilding company has always been and will always remain in the Calloway name.
“Yes, I know that.” Josh runs his fingers shakily through his hair. “But if you don’t get the housebuilding company, then what use is Calloway estate agency? I can’t run fifty percent of a business that doesn’t exist.”
A smile tugs at my lips, but I keep it at bay. “You’re right, cousin. If I fail to acquire the housebuilding company, then I will rebrand the estate agency into a confectionery shop. We will sell everything from toffees to sticks of rock. The list is endless.”
Josh’s face sours. “That isn’t funny. Natasha will never take me seriously if I’m running a bloody sweet shop.”
I clap Josh on the shoulder. “Whatever business I acquire, I will theme the shop accordingly. The cruise ship business, for example—the shop would be a travel agency that will feature the Calloway Cruises. I will do the same with the hotel company—the shop would feature our UK-based hotels for staycations.”
“You have it all figured out,” Josh muses.
I nod curtly. “Of course I do. I’m a Calloway, and no matter what, I always have a backup plan.”
Josh nods, seemingly happy with my answer. “And I’ll get fifty percent of the shop’s profits?”
The desperation is deep-rooted in his voice, which has me turning my full attention to him. It hasn’t gone unnoticed how drawn my cousin looks, the dark circles that encompass his eyes. Nor has it gone unnoticed that Josh has worn the exact same suit at least half a dozen times over the past few weeks. Just because he has chosen to accessorise with trouser braces does not hide the faded blue material of his jacket or the badly re-stitched buttons. I want to ask him how things are financially, but financial hardship has always been a frowned-upon subject.
“I’ve had a change of heart,” I drawl, my words filled with boredom.
